Bellamy the Bartender
by Marlee92
Summary: Clarke's had a rough day and ends up in a smelly dive bar. (Rated T for some mild language)


"What can I get you, princess?" A deep voice rumbles behind the bar. Clarke glances up for the first time since sitting down and in the din of the stale smelling bar she scowls up at a tall, dark skinned man with a small scar on the left side of his lip. She wonders briefly how he got it before ordering a double shot of tequila. "Bad night?" He inquires. Clarke gives him a scandalized look; she refuses to stoop to the level of pouring her soul out to a random bartender in the early hours of the morning.

"I got rained on," she says simply, throwing back the glass he hands her and taps her hand on the bar for another.

"Just rained on?" He smirks. "For someone that isn't having a bad night you sure are ordering drinks like you did." She opens her mouth to say something but he is already sauntering down the bar to tend to a particularly disheveled looking hunched over man sitting in the corner. She surveys him for a moment and watches how he talks to the man with an air of ease and confidence as he leans against the bar. She can see that he is listening fairly intently as the old fool no doubt tells him his life story. At least, it looked like he was listening intently; that is until the bartender, as if feeling her eyes on him, turns to look at her and winks. Quirking an eyebrow, she finishes her shot off and turns back towards the dirty bar in front of her. She's picking at a chip in the paint as he sidles back up to her.

"Anything else, princess?" Clarke has never been a heavy drinker and she is already feeling the effects of the tequila. She weighs her options briefly, looking at the chalkboard wall behind the bartender filled with a ton of colorfully written mixed drinks.

"Um, maybe just a water for now. And its Clarke," she says finally, deciding that no, she would not like a… slippery nipple. Instead of pouring her a glass of water he reaches under the bar and hands her a bottle.

"Here, our tap water tastes like shit." He leans against the bar, giving her a pointed look and she struggles to keep herself from rolling her eyes. "So you live around here?"

"Yeah, I live just around the corner actually; my building is a block away from here." He nods, indicating that he knows the place.

"Have you always lived here? Or did you just stop in for the glamour?" He grins, spreading his arms wide and gestures around the musty old bar.

"School, actually. I'm in my final year of medical school."

"A doctor, huh?" He leans back, impressed. "Isn't tonight a school night? Shouldn't you be at home studying?" Clarke knows that he's prying, but well, if she's being honest she doesn't really have anyone else to talk to. This guy is here, and he's probably heard plenty of stories, so he'll forget hers, right?

"Yeah, I don't feel much like studying tonight." He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything, leaving it up to her whether to continue or not. After sipping at her water for what feels like a lifetime with him staring at her so intently, she finally does. "I just found out my boyfriend has another girlfriend, and _I'm _the other woman. _Not_ her."

"Wow, that's pretty heavy stuff," he says, wiping absentmindedly at the bar with what looks to be a very dirty dishrag. "You know, you look familiar. Have you been here before?" Clarke shakes her head.

"Finn and I don't really come to these kinds of places." She begins picking at the paint chip again.

"Finn? Finn Collins?" By the look of surprise on her face, he figures he'd guessed right. "That dude is always in here. Actually," the bartender's ears turn a deep shade of red as he rubs the back of his neck. "He was in here last week bragging about having two girls." Clarke groans, and despite being utterly repulsed by the bar she lays her head down on it.

"I'm so stupid," she mumbles.

"Nah, that guy's a tool." As more customers come up he moves up and down the bar, filling drink orders and laughing with the other patrons. Clarke barely lifts her head until she hears him raise his voice for last call.

"What exactly is a slippery nipple?" She asks him as he arrives once more in front of her.

"Bailey's and sambuca," he answers as he pulls a shot glass out and pours the liquor in front of her, she watches as the two separate in the shot glass before her. "On the house," he says with a wink.

"Thanks," she says downing the shot and cringing at the taste. "That is awful."

"Sambuca is definitely an acquired taste," he laughs. The bar is cleared out except for the two of them so Clarke picks up her bag and stands.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around, uhm, bartender-guy."

"It's Bellamy. And if you really don't want to go home, you can hang around for a while. The owner won't mind, he lives just upstairs."

"Oh? How can you be so sure that he won't mind you inviting strangers to hang out alone in his bar?"

"Because I'm the owner," he answers simply. "And who said you'd be alone?" He smiles at her again and maybe it's the liquor talking, but even in the dim light of his dingy bar she can see just how attractive Bellamy is.


End file.
